I was awaken by the same bright light, in the same old barn, surrounded by hay, laying in the same uncomfortable bed, just like before. This time, there was an extra bed, empty. For a moment, as I recalled what happened, my heart skipped a beat. I figured that should be Johnny's bed and it was empty because he either got better faster or died. Then, the smell of tobacco filled my nostrils and as I looked to the door, I saw him.
-Get me one of those, will ya?-I said, in a husky voice. Johnny looked back, at me and smiled a lot.
-Finally, mate!-He mocked me.-You snore!-He threw me the pack. My arm hurt a lot as I tried to move it, so the pack ended up crashing on my face. Johnny laughed at me.
-What happened?-I asked him, as I sat down and lighted a smoke.
-N9ners... Ran me the fuck over, shot you down.
-Why the fuck am I the one always being shot at?!
-Well, you're ugly, there's that...-He mocked me.-Also, you kind of started it.
-What the fuck do you mean? Two times now, they shot at me for no fucking reason!-I was pissed.
-If I'm recalling it right, you kind of shot at them first... Convenience store, rings a bell?-He looked at me, smiling, as if it was all funny to him. In my mind, I relieved that day, after my court session, with Quintin. The day I disgraced my life for good. I sighted.
-Oh, that...
-Yeah, that!-He laughed.
-Well, it was the last time they shot at me. That I can guarantee.
-Yeah, I wouldn't be so sure.-He sighted, sounding frustrated.-They have shot at Quintin a million times in the past year, destroyed our deals, fucked with our partners... The boss seems hell bent on avoiding retribution.
-Yeah, that's about to change. -I said confidently.-They can shoot at Quintin all they want, but they can't fuck with me! Let me get all fixed up and you will see.-I smiled. Johnny looked at me, confused for a few seconds and then the excitement took over.
-Well, count me in! -He laughed softly and then got serious, as he looked outside. He made his way to his bed, rushing.-Boss' coming.
-Good.-I winked at him.
A second later, Quintin walked inside. He looked at us and sighted.
-How are you boys doing?-He asked.
-Hmm...-Johnny looked at me and then back at Quintin.-We're healing.
-Yeah. -He raised one eyebrow.-I'm glad you boys are feeling better.
-I'd be better if I hadn't been shot at and ran over.-I said coldly.-We can't let it slide. I've been shot twice! Are we going through the motions or...?
-There are no motions to go through. Their time will come, but right now is not a good time to start a war. -Quintin lighted up a smoke.
-It's always a good time to start a war.-I insisted.-Demand keeps the business flourishing.
-Not when we're the ones demanding!-Quintin was getting upset.
-If you stir the pot a bit, eventually all hell breaks loose. I've always been told I thrive on chaos.
-ENOUGH!-He screamed at me.-I understand your frustration, but there will be no retribution, no pay back, not even an exchange of words. Is that clear?
-Very.-I answered, pissed. He nodded and headed for the door. I looked at Johnny. He shook his head negatively. I ignored him.-It's clear you've got no backbone!-I said loudly. Quintin stopped walking, standing still, facing the door. I got up with some struggle.-They ruin our deals, attack our alliances, shoot at club members, shoot at the damn president for kicks and gigs and you're too fucking scared to even make a stand! What kind of image do you think that paints? Soon, our allies will have no motive to stand behind us. We can't protect ourselves, let alone them. Our deals will all fail, our imports will be stolen or destroyed and we'll be in deep shit! Then, they will shoot you dead and when they do, when they kill our president, the club is over. There's no recovering from that! So if you got a death wish, hang yourself! Don't drag the club 6 feet deep with you.
-Mike!-Johnny signaled me to stop. I ignored him once again.
-If you don't make a stand, in the name of the club, I will.- I insisted. Quintin looked back to face me, mad.
-I would like to see you try.
-Oh, you will!-I defied him. He looked at me like a mad dog, jaw all tensed up, fist clenched.
-Johnny Boy, take a walk, will ya?
-Boss, I...-Johnny was afraid to leave.
-NOW!-Quintin screamed at him, not breaking eye contact with me. You could smell the tension in the air. Johnny looked at me, sighted and left. The moment he closed the door, Quintin charged at me and pushed me, making me lose my balance and fall. He then put his knee in my neck, completely controlling me. I was still too weak to fight back.-You listen now, boy! This is still my club! And I'll be damned before I let you ruin it all!-I was struggling to breathe, trying to push his knee off of me.-You will do as you're told or I will finish you! I don't care who your mommy is, who your daddy is, I don't care about none of it! If you threaten my club, I will end you! DID YOU GET THAT?!-He kept strangling me for a few more seconds. I was starting to lose it, the whole room was out of focus, darkening by the second. Eventually he got up and dusted off his vest. I took several deep breaths, trying not to pass out. -Good chat.-He left.
As he opened the door, Johnny rushed in. He kneeled besides me, looked at Quintin and shook his head in disapproval. Quintin lighted up a smoke and left. Johnny helped me up.
-Are you alright, mate?-He asked concerned.
-Never been better.-I struggled to answer. It hurt to speak because of the pressure Quintin had made on my neck. I sat in my bed for a second, recovering.-I'll kill him... I swear I fucking will! And it's not soon nor late!-I got up and rushed to the door. Johnny slid his arms between mine, from behind and grabbed my shoulders, stopping me from leaving.
-Knock it off!
-LET GO OF ME!-I screamed
-Stop it! You're too weak to fight!-He managed to pull me back and push me to the back of the barn. I tried to go for the door again. He put his hands on my shoulders, stopping me, looking me right in the eyes.-You're not gonna win that fight! It's stupid! You're only gonna make a fool of yourself! Will you listen for once in your damn life?!
Eventually, I realized he was right. I had a broken arm, a couple broken ribs and a gunshot wound in my leg which was already bleeding all over. It was too soon to make a move. Johnny was right. My impulsivity had gotten the best of me my whole life. It was the reason I was in all that mess to begin with. He said I was almost a martyr in the club, someone who had been constantly chased and hurt by choosing not to play the role I was supposed to, first by the police, then by the N9ners. By that order of ideas, it was pretty stupid to go against the President then. And he wasn't wrong.
After that conversation, I looked at him and smiled.
-Can you ride?-I asked him. He looked at me confused, but interested.
-My bike's outside.-I followed him outside. His bike was parked besides the barn, or whatever was left of it. As he touched it, part of the exhaust fell off. I laughed. He turned it on. By the 5th attempt it finally started.-It lives!
-Well, if you didn't die before, you surely will now riding that piece of junk.
-Hey!-He pretended to be mad.-It's still my baby!
-Sure!-I laughed.-Get us some beers, will ya? Got a conspiracy to plan!-I mocked him
-Say that loud enough and I might miraculously have a stroke on my way to the liquor store-He said, playfully, but I knew what he was saying was the truth. I laughed, but didn't have a doubt in my mind that Quintin would do everything to silence us, by all means necessary.
-Kind of comes with the job description, right?
-What? The ability to suddenly develop clots all over my brain even though I'm healthy as a horse? Some would call it magic, you call it the job description. Kind of enlightening on how fucked up it all is, ain't it?-He joked, but once again meant every word of it. I wasn't able to laugh. I gave him a soft smile, that vanished faster than I wanted it to. He sat on his bike and drove off.
Johnny really shook me. I stood there, watching him drive away in the middle of nowhere. It was like suddenly I realized I was way out of my depth. My body was immediately twice as heavy. I felt as if I was standing on quicksand, the more I struggled, the more I sank.
